A Pretty Mess

by Carla Caruso

  She’d decided to go in semi-disguise, just in case Kim-Ly should mention anything about a nosey customer to Natalia. She didn’t want a depiction of her usual appearance to give her away. Celeste’s inspiration for the evening had been the type of hussy Lenny might date. She’d hair-sprayed her ’do until it looked big, slung a necklace around the waist of her denim shirt to resemble a chain belt — a trick she’d learned from Flip — and smoked up her eye makeup. Right. She slid her hands down her cream trousers. It was now or never.

  After waiting for two One Direction lookalikes, with tattoos and designer sneakers, to skateboard past, she pushed on the door. A fog of nail-polish fumes hit her between the eyes. At the front counter, a young Vietnamese woman observed Celeste with a bored expression. Even the gold waving-cat figurine, perched on the countertop, seemed friendlier.

  ‘Uh, I have a booking with Kim-Ly,’ Celeste stammered.

  The girl pointed to a cushioned bench, covered in cracked blue leather, near the window. Celeste gathered that meant she’d have to wait. Perhaps the girl didn’t speak English. Celeste took a seat and tentatively picked up a magazine — a Women’s Weekly. From 2001. Yikes.

  She flipped it open and used it as a sort of shield to peer about the room. Despite the salon’s minuscule size, it was definitely busy. Luckily none of the customers looked familiar, although they did look posh — which meant she had been right about the place being a local secret. She might have to visit again — if Araminta didn’t have her hanged, drawn and quartered first. There were several nail stations in front of her, and a hallway, at the rear, with a sign pointing to rooms for waxing.

  She was just wondering which nail technician was Kim-Ly when her mobile pinged in her tote. Celeste reached for it and flinched at the message. It was a promotional text letting her know the new Ballet-Tastic newsletter was in her inbox. She’d signed up for it when researching Natalia prior to their first meeting.

  ‘Celeste … Pritty?’

  She nearly jumped out of her skin at hearing the soft, female voice in her ear. A young woman with almond-shaped eyes, round cheeks, and dark tumbling curls gazed back at her.

  ‘Hi … Kim-Ly?’

  The woman nodded and swept a hand behind her. ‘Come. This way.’ Celeste got to her feet, obediently following the nail technician and sliding into a creaky swivel chair behind a station to the right, next to the scuffed, white-painted wall.

  Kim-Ly, sitting opposite her, smiled gently. ‘Manicure, yes? What nail colour would you like?’

  Numerous shelves of polishes lined the wall beside her. Some were clumpy or had yellowish oil accumulating at the top, while others were almost empty. Image obviously wasn’t high on the agenda at the salon — just affordable prices and skilled workmanship. Celeste pointed to a pearly white polish, which looked safe enough.

  ‘This one?’ Kim-Ly’s fingers wrapped around a fire engine-red hue beside it.

  ‘Uh, no … the other one!’ But Celeste was drowned out by the businesswoman on her other side, whooping into the mobile pinned between her ear and shoulder as she had her nails done. Something about real estate prices. So very Astonvale.

  Unfortunately, Kim-Ly already had the red polish on the table and looked so serene as she began filing Celeste’s nails that Celeste decided just to go with it. At least it would match the clown-like rouge lipstick she’d worn for the evening — a quick chemist purchase on the way. Besides, the manicure itself wasn’t important; that could be easily undone. It was the getting of information that was.

  Halfway through her base coat, Celeste felt ready to mention Natalia’s name, after deftly guiding the conversation onto all things fitness. Thankfully, the hum of nail work, conversations and passing traffic would prevent any flapping ears from overhearing.

  ‘I’m actually a big fan of the Ballet-Tastic brand,’ she pushed on. ‘Did-did I hear on the grapevine correctly that Natalia Samphire’s a client of yours?’

  Kim-Ly’s face didn’t move a muscle, but her grip seemed to tighten ever so slightly on Celeste’s hand as she painted the clear polish. Then again, she could just be being paranoid.

  ‘Yes, she comes to see me.’ Kim-Ly curved a perfectly pruned eyebrow. ‘News travels fast.’

  ‘It certainly does around here. So has … has Natalia been coming to the salon for long? I only just discovered the place myself.’

  ‘Only since she moved here.’ Kim-Ly’s tone had grown marginally clipped. That or Celeste’s ears were playing tricks on her.

  ‘Everyone must want to know what her favourite treatments are,’ Celeste rushed on in her new brash persona, channelling Cousin Dolores. She moved in for the kill, leaning closer and shooting Kim-Ly a beatific smile. ‘You know, you see Natalia on TV and in the commercials, but tell me, what’s she really like?’

  Kim-Ly paused in painting Celeste’s pinkie nail, set down the polish brush and suddenly wrenched Celeste’s digits forward with her other hand.

  Her face was now mere millimetres from Celeste’s, her eyes like stone and her voice low, the salon buzz continuing to swirl around them unrestrained. ‘Stop. Asking. About. Natalia.’

  ‘Oh … okay, sure.’ Her hand, in Kim-Ly’s pincer-like grip, was beginning to hurt. Sweat, too. Thankfully, Kim-Ly hadn’t started on that hand’s polish yet or it would have been ruined. Hour-long seconds later, Kim-Ly let go and Celeste crashed back into her seat with force.

  Kim-Ly’s face was a serene mask again. ‘Your other hand, please.’

  ‘Um … no problems.’

  The rest of the manicure was pretty quiet. Uncomfortable, but quiet. And, even worse, Celeste felt none the wiser. Could Kim-Ly just be being protective of the privacy of a star client, or could there actually be something more to it? At any rate, Celeste didn’t think she’d be visiting the salon again anytime soon.

  After paying at the front counter — certain Kim-Ly had whacked on an extra ten dollars, but too scared to ask — Celeste stumbled back out onto the street in the twilight, scurrying along the footpath to her car.

  It was all Lenny’s fault. For making her paranoid about things again. She didn’t know what had come over her visiting the salon. It was so out of character for her. Who did she really think she was? Nancy Drew? She’d learned nothing, gained an enemy, and possibly jeopardised her work with Natalia if word ever somehow got back. Stupid, stupid, stupid—

  The shrill ringing of her mobile cut through her stewing. Maybe this time it really was Natalia — about to give her the heave-ho, deservedly — and not just a promotional text. Relief coursed through Celeste as she checked the screen.

  ‘Araminta, hi!’

  ‘Celeste, why were you at another salon?’

  The relief hadn’t lasted long. Celeste craned her neck this way and that, trying to spot Araminta’s black Range Rover amid the traffic. And failing. ‘Uh … sorry?’

  ‘I know you went to Lucky Fingers.’

  Cripes. It was official. The hair and beauty world were talking already. If it was that easy for Araminta to find out, how cinchy would it be for Natalia? She really had put it all on the line. Celeste’s voice was a mere whisper. ‘How did you know?’

  Araminta’s guffaw echoed down the line. ‘I can see you from across the street, dummy! I’m at Tommy’s Thai Restaurant — only the most authentic Thai eatery in town.’

  Sure enough, when Celeste turned and squinted across the narrow road, she could see the hairdresser, bathed in the restaurant’s amber lighting, waving back at her through the window. Araminta’s long-suffering boyfriend, Ken, was also sitting opposite. Long-suffering, because he put up with Araminta’s lengthy hours as a salon owner and her generally pushy nature. Celeste waved back happily, pleased that gossip in beauty circles didn’t move that fast. Which meant maybe she hadn’t risked everything with Natalia, after all.

  ‘So what did you get done?’ Araminta prompted.

  Okay, so she still had her hairdresser mate to deal with.

  ‘Just my nail
s. Someone … someone at work suggested the place. Of course, I’d usually go to your salon, but I just needed a quick emergency job after work. ’

  ‘Hot date with Mitchell?’

  ‘Um, yes.’

  A lie. In truth, she couldn’t wait to lie on the couch, watch Grand Designs on tape, and try to forget about the night altogether.

  ‘Should I book you in for a cut-and-colour at mine tomorrow night — around six?’

  ‘Do what you have to.’

  ‘By the way, I like the new way you’ve styled your hair. Even from across the street, it looks different. We can work with that. But it still definitely needs a cut.’

  ‘I’m happy with the usual look …’ Celeste began, but Araminta was already gone, likely off to canoodle with Ken over drunken noodles and call each other ‘yum-yum’ over tom yum soup. Maybe Custard would appreciate Celeste’s new mani.

  Lenny hurried along the footpath, on his way to meet a woman. A very special woman. Just the thought of seeing her made him smile. It had been a long time between drinks, but they both had busy schedules. She was a smart one — a lawyer. No Shandee, that was for sure, even having helped him with the odd legal matter for work in the past. They were catching up at some little Asian place she’d been raving about for aeons. His busy workday had ensured he’d worked up an appetite.

  A purple Ford Falcon with a rear wing thundered past, its driver wolf-whistling out the window at some poor girl heading his way up ahead. What a Neanderthal.

  Suddenly, Lenny’s footsteps slowed as the object of the wolf-whistle neared. No, it couldn’t be, could it? She looked too … different. The way she was dressed. Everything. Then again, the speedy walk was definitely the same. Blow me down. It was her.

  He paused on the footpath, taking in her bouffant hair, smoky eyes and chilli-red lips. Perhaps Natalia wasn’t the only one with a secret or two. It took a moment to pick his jaw back up off the floor. ‘Celeste Pretty, this is a surprise. Big night ahead?’

  She looked nervous, toying with her cream-coloured watch. ‘Something like that. And you?’

  ‘Actually I’m meeting up with my—’

  As if on cue, Perla — his date for the night — suddenly barrelled forwards, cutting him off. She looked as gorgeous as ever with her jet-black hair slicked into a ponytail and her svelte figure encased in an all-white skirt suit.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt you guys, but, Lenny, it’s been too long!’ Perla exclaimed, swooping in to peck his cheek before linking her arm with his. ‘How are you?’

  Despite being cool and hard-edged as a lawyer at the negotiating table, she’d always been the touchy-feely type with him.

  He grinned. ‘Good now.’

  Celeste could be heard clearing her throat in front of them. Oh, right. He should probably do the introductions. But Celeste was clutching onto her handbag strap so hard, it looked like she was about to take off skywards.

  ‘Celeste, uh, this is—’

  But he was cut off once more that night. ‘Don’t bother. I’ll leave you to Brandy or Sherry or whatever her name is. Mitchell will be waiting.’

  Lenny shook his head as Celeste sailed off, her head held high. She’d gotten totally the wrong idea. Putting him in a box she thought he belonged without giving him a chance to explain. As usual.

  Meanwhile, Perla had her head tilted to one side and her arms crossed over her chest. ‘Jealous type, but that’s okay — shows she has passion, and that kind of streak can be kept in check. The eye makeup was a little overdone, but you could still tell she had a pretty face. And she knows how to stand up at you.’ Perla nodded vigorously to herself. ‘Yup, with a bit of fine-tuning, she’d even be respectable enough to show the parents and put an end to your serial dating. Or mating, I should call it. I approve!’

  ‘Sis, you know I don’t have time for a relationship right now.’

  If he were even interested in Celeste, which he wasn’t … was he? She was attached, among other things. Though the jealous bit Perla had observed was interesting. He’d just thought Celeste’s reaction had been one of disgust at him being a so-called lady-killer. Of course, his reaction to Celeste’s own beau, Mitchell, at tennis had been different. That guy was just ridiculous.

  Perla blew a raspberry in his face, like the days of old. ‘You still worried about being an absentee workaholic father like you reckon Dad was? Well, you’ve got to get over it. We turned out okay, didn’t we? And I manage to juggle a family and career now the kids are back at school — I just demand flexibility in my workplace. Besides, my little ones aren’t going to be young forever and they want cousins ASAP.’ She linked her arm with his again. ‘Now let’s go to this Thai place before I keel over from starvation. I missed lunch. I can only multitask so much.’

  ‘Your wish is my command.’

  Ever the big sister, she was always the boss.

  11.

  Celeste was mortified as she crunched up Natalia’s gravel driveway Thursday morning, the upsetting newspaper article burrowed in her tote. There were no two ways about it: she was in deep. Trying to probe Natalia’s manicurist for information was child’s play compared to this. Worse yet, Celeste had umpteen messages from potential clients on her phone wanting to book her services, thanks to said article. Why was that so horrifying?

  Ursula had done the dirty on her. Celeste’s ‘interview’, as it could be loosely described, had appeared in a lift-out in the Astonvale Press that morning — with a massive photo of Natalia as the leading picture and a teeny-tiny version of Celeste’s scary social pic accompanying it, almost as an afterthought. Unfortunately, Imogen hadn’t been cropped out either, so the pair looked like best buddies.

  The article had dubbed Celeste a ‘star de-clutterer’ and ‘young up-and-comer’, helping the time-poor keep on top of things. Then it had gone into detail about Natalia’s salacious arrival in town, from her somewhat saucy fitness class at the community hall to her fainting episode at the French market and the upcoming launch party at her new palatial abode.

  Celeste knew Natalia was back at the mansion that day, not gallivanting off to the new fitness studio. Which meant Celeste could explain what had happened straightaway, and try to hang onto the work for her first client by a thread. Or at least have her say and be shown the door with some dignity still intact.

  A figure appeared at the other end of the driveway, wandering in her direction as Celeste made a beeline for the back. Oh, it was that young mail contractor with the over-gelled hair and slightly sweaty look, who was often about the place. A big brand like Ballet-Tastic had a lot of post going back and forth.

  He nodded at Celeste in passing. ‘G’day. Nice day for it.’

  ‘It is indeed.’

  ‘You enjoy your day.’

  ‘I will. Thank you.’

  The guy looked to be in his early twenties, about Flip’s age. The pimples would fade. Why couldn’t Flip go for someone as polite — and youthful — as him?

  She continued onto the back porch, a flash of blonde hair, through some trees, in the gazebo pulling her gaze askew. Natalia. Celeste picked up her pace in time with her heartbeat. It would be good to get the fitness guru alone, and would be easier to save face if she was given her marching orders. If Celeste had learned anything in life, it was to nip things in the bud early, rather than having them hang over her head like a black fog.

  Luckily she had the newspaper — including the employment pages — in her tote. She could scour them over a cup of coffee at the nearest café. Surely there’d be someone out there looking for a half-hearted interior designer should the professional-organising lark not work out. She knew all those who’d keenly called would disappear once news got around that Natalia had turfed her.

  Celeste neared the metal-framed gazebo, too nervous to fully appreciate its ornate design work. Natalia, trademark blonde curls cascading behind her, was seated with her back to Celeste, one knee up on a wooden bench. She wore a body-hugging dress the same pinky-beige hue as
almond milk.

  One step up, two— Cripes! Was that a thin plume of cigarette smoke wafting above Natalia? It certainly smelled like it. Hmm, maybe she should bother the fitness guru later, turn back around— Creak!

  ‘Celeste … did you want me?’

  All over Celeste went as cold as if she’d been dunked in Natalia’s dazzling pool. Turning sharply, she couldn’t stop her eyes zeroing in on the cigarette still grasped between Natalia’s tanned fingers.

  Casually, Natalia put it out in a glass ashtray behind her. ‘Ever tried a herbal cigarette? They’re tobacco-free and quite soothing.’

  ‘Oh … no, I haven’t.’

  And she’d thought they’d smell like mint or lemongrass, not the kind of smog that used to hover behind the PE shed at school. Not that she was ever invited to join the cool kids.

  ‘How are things going with the bedroom organising?’ Natalia pressed. ‘Sorry I have been AWOL at the studio and haven’t checked in for a while.’

  ‘Yeah, things are going great. We’re just about finished actually.’

  ‘Good, because I wouldn’t mind borrowing you, in fact, this morning. I’m a guest panellist on that late-morning talk show, The Studio. They’re doing a live show in Adelaide. Minka’s off sick, but I could really do with having someone alongside me to ensure I have everything I need and that things run smoothly. I know it’s not part of your usual job description …’

  ‘I’d be happy to help.’ She couldn’t say she’d miss seeing Minka’s gloomy face about the place, and the task sounded exciting. Then Celeste remembered the stupid newspaper article and any enthusiasm went out the window. ‘Uh, Natalia, there’s just something I wanted to talk to you about first …’

  ‘Yes?’ Natalia’s eyes really were alarmingly blue.

  ‘Um, an old school-friend of mine, who’s now a newspaper reporter, rang and kind of bamboozled me into doing an interview with her for the Astonvale Press. It was meant to just be about my business, but somehow she guessed you were a client of mine and—’